Constant
by Cohen101
Summary: A glimpse into Roger's mind during withdrawal.


**A/N: So… this is interesting little one-shot experiment. Roger's POV, rated for mention of cutting, withdraw, two swears (maybe?). It might be a little hard to read at first, not my usual, but hopefully that doesn't trip anyone up. **

**Feedback for this would be really appreciated cause, well, it's different and I want to see how it's received. **

Constant

_**[Might be easier to read in like, 1/2 page format or something]**_

I'm crying, I'm shaking, I'm doing a million things at once-

I'm only doing one thing, I'm needing, needing, all I ever do is need and Mark gives and gives but he won't give me this one thing I'm so pissed- pissed beyond any and all capacities to be pissed and, oh god, all I want is want, I want it, I need it, and he won't give it to me, the bastard,

and how the fuck do you hate a guy who's holding you, holding you when you've got snot coming out of your nose rubbing the snot all over his shirt and collar and sleeves, embracing you when your knees jabbing into his groin, stroking your back when all you can do is wither and hit and yell and curse and hate- so much hate, why is there so much hate, why can't I just be good and pure and like Mark is and not evil, why can't I just hold myself like Mark is, why can't I just embrace myself like Mark is, why can't why can't why can't, like a torrent of hate and doubt and insecurity and everything else that just won't ever end, why do I have to hate myself

why do I have to do this to myself over and over again and subject these wonderful people to my horrible horrible life and my useless existence and my failure and my impotence and helplessness and inability to amount to anything but a burden to everyone and everything around me that I touch-

the urge to leave, the urge to run, I want to run but Mark's holding me tight, clamping down on my arms, his hands like seaweed tangled around my bare ankle in the pond when I'm five and a kid and just learning how to swim and tread water and the seaweeds wrapping itself around my ankle trying to drown me, keeping me down to the ground and it's freaking the fuck out of me because I don't know what it is, I've never felt it before, it's not letting go of me and I'm trying to wiggle free and I'm screaming because I'm scared and I'm crying because I'm upset and I'm angry because I'm disappointed and I'm struggling because I'm terrified and I just want to get free get free get free but it's not letting me; the seaweed's not letting me; Mark's not letting me;

my face is pressed against something hard and soft and warm and comforting and for a second I stop because there's safety there and something else I don't quite know how to describe, something that's warm and hard and soft and sharp and dull at the same time- it's everything at once and I stop because it's confusing because I've never felt this feeling before in my life and I can't describe it- it's Mark and his hand his holding my head into the safety and the warmth and I stop yelling because I know what it is I finally know what the seaweed is and I still want to run and I still want to swim but I know now that if I stop shitting myself it'll just fall away and not get tangled up and it's Mark and I trust him and I stop.

Mark whispers my name and whispers it again and I whimper because it's the only thing I know how to do, the only thing I can count on, the only thing that's stayed constant in my life since I can remember because Mark's taking away the other constant- the constant of pain and now the only constant I have is a whimper so I'm whimpering-

he picks me up and I don't know how he picks me up but he does pick me up and it feels safe and it feels Mark and even though I'm whimpering Mark's still there and he's taking the pain away from me and even though I'm still shaking and even though I'm still doing a million things at once Mark is there and I'm whimpering and Mark is there and all I want, all I want, all I need is Mark and for Mark to be there and for Mark to be a constant because it doesn't hurt as much with Mark, there isn't as much pain with Mark and it all seems better with Mark

and I'm on the bed and I'm being curled up into a tight roll with blankets and it's okay because Mark's there and I don't feel all shut in and trapped and the blankets feel better than the hand that was clamping down on me before and I whimper because I can breathe again and I whimper because Mark's there and I don't want him to leave because he makes me feel untrapped and unwhimpering and unpainful and the need to run and get away and want to want something that's bad goes away…

slowly it goes away and slowly the world's returning and Mark's right there beside me, his hand in my hair, holding me tight, embracing me being there for me taking away my whimper and the feeling returns and I don't know what it is because I haven't felt it before but it's there and it's soft and it's hard and it's hot and it's cold and it makes me feel good well not good but it makes me less crazy and less like a monster and less like the devil and it makes me calm and peaceful and it takes away the pain and it's unfamiliar which causes me to whimper but the whimper's good because it's a constant in my life and Mark's right there and his hand is in my hair and I feel like it's okay to feel like I'm five or six and swimming in that lake or pond and I'm terrified,

I whimper and Mark's there, and I don't whimper and Mark's still there, and, and, and, and,

that's all I can focus on now, that I'm not whimpering and I'm not feeling pain and I'm not feeling any of those bad and scary and tummy-aching emotions but Mark's still there, still whispering, whispering my name and his name and nonsense and things that make sense but I think only make sense because I'm not making sense and, and, and, Mark's still there,

and I let myself think for a moment that maybe Mark's always going to be there and he's always going to have his hand in my hair and he's always going to let me feel like the five six year old that needs comforting because he's always going to be there and I close my eyes and I start breathing normal again and I can still feel my heart pounding in my ears and my fingers and my toes and my brain and my head and my lips are raw and they taste salty and my cheeks are raw and they hurt and my head is hurting and my fingers are hurting and my hands are bleeding-

and it hurts, it all hurts and it all hurts a lot but Mark's beside me and I'm not whimpering and I'm not feeling pain- I'm not feeling that pain, that bad pain, that pain deep down inside of me that seeps out when I cut myself and I'm not feeling it but I feel Mark beside me, and I'm not whimpering, and Mark's beside me and my hands hurt and they're bleeding but the pain isn't leaking out of them because there's no pain to leak and, and, and,

Mark's beside me.


End file.
